


Be Kind, Rewind

by bexacaust



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Also a gift for a friend i have no idea what im doing, Gen, M/M, Resets and The People They Hurt, Underfell, underswap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: If I only could make a deal with God-Get him to swap our places.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Be Kind, Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> For Guttermech, on Tumblr- same as the other Undertale thing I wrote.

It always snows here. Here, below the ground where sunlight doesn’t touch the sandy soil anymore.

Sage would beg to differ.

Sage has met the sun- fiery and bright and sharp enough to make you turn away, blinking the flashes of color from your vision. Loud without sound; burning hot and comfortably warm all at once.

And, eventually destined to end in a supernova of bright, bright red.

And the sun’s name was Paprika- bitter and tart on the tongue like red pepper, like old liqour from basement stills; sharp like the first breath of Snowdin’s air after a night curled under heavy duvets.

And the sun did touch the dry earth here- with quick steps like a soldier’s march, cutting a path through the heavy snow and natural stillness of a realm of monsters. In the sharp bark of a voice and the roll of empty eyes lined in cosmetic paint- to turn sockets into caverns of unspoken words and unacknowledged emotion, of hiding places when the frozen stillness drifted down from a strange sky.

It’s snowing again.

And Sage feels it touch his skull and leak down in frozen trails as it melts; he swears to himself its simply the snow. It’s the snow, the sky is crying it’s frozen teardrops, not him.

He does not cry, anymore.

He is lying, but there’s no one left to call him on it. His steps are heavy, and when he falls to his knees he blames his untied boots. And his ribcage is rattling, but not from the cold, and his hands are shaking so hard he can see the gaps in his wrists.

And Paprika is spread upon the snow like a supernova’s remnants- like a star nursery painted in blacks and golds and so much red. And Sage wishes, prays to whatever God exists for his kind that it’s blood, that its wine like a dropped sacrament; but he knows it isn’t.

He knows it’s a tattered sash-scarf. He knows its a torn uniform and he knows beyond a doubt that the little stars dotting that emptiness are buttons and decor befitting one who knew violence untamed. And he knows that amongst the cloth scattered he will find dust, dust and bonechips like lost comets and star nurseries but that doesn’t make it hurt less.

And then Paprika’s head turns to him, smiling with missing and chipped fangs and one eye socket split like torn silk.

“There you are.”

And Sage nods, the snowmelt on his face flowing faster as the wind picks up and tugs at the red draped over white powder.

“I was… hoping it… would be you.”, is breathed out in wisps of steam and gravedust.

“Of course it’s me, babe.”

“It was…It was bound to happen, you know.”, whispered Paprika, his bitter smile faltering, “I have not lived gently.”

“None of us have, P’rika, come one, let’s get you home, I gotta-”

“There is no getting me home, Love.”

“There’s always home babe, c’mon-”

“I have no legs, Sage. They were the first things to give out during the attack.”, crooned Paprika, “I have only half a cage left, the rest is all dust.”

Sage hung his head, leaning to let his head rest against Paprika’s shoulder. A shaky arm goes around sweater-padded shoulders and gives a weak squeeze of failing strength and goodbyes unsaid.

“Please, darling, don’t cry for me. Don’t cry.”, is whispered as Sage coughs hoarsely, “Never cry for me, no more… tears now….”

The arm drops, and Sage swears it shatters the world like glass. A last drip of steam escapes a fanged mouth and Paprika begins to crumble- the rest of him long since fallen to dust with his last comforts to Sage. The scars on the bone collapse first first slowly and then like a tidal wave of erasure and all that’s left is that red, red scarf in the snow.

The wind, oh the wind picks up and carries away the remnants of sunshine in its claws and Sage scrambles to his feet with a howl-

“NO!”

But all his shaking fingers close on is red. Red silk, red satin, red softness. 

It never rains in Snowdin.

Because, like its lone son and scribe of tragedy, it has grown so used to death that it has all gone so cold.

* * *


End file.
